


Broken Fragments

by loni_meow



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst and Feels, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hallucinations, Honestly this is kind of really sad, Hurt No Comfort, Mentioned Past Quackity/Wilbur, Past Abuse, Past Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Reunions, Sad Alexis | Quackity, Suicidal Thoughts, There is some kind of comfort, Trust Issues, Wholesome Ghost Wilbur Soot, but not like... a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loni_meow/pseuds/loni_meow
Summary: Every second, a fragment of Alex was dying.
Relationships: (only mentioned though) - Relationship, Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	Broken Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighties...
> 
> This is my first fanfiction in the Dream SMP fandom!  
> The idea came to me a few days ago, and to me it seems like smp Quackity really is at a bad mental health right now.
> 
> Now, I've researched on their boundaries, even though I think they don't mind what we do with their smp characters, right (as long as we don't do inappropriate stuff)? Because Schlatt and Quackity were married and as far as I know, he had some canon romantic moments with Wilburs character.
> 
> I know that Quackity is not exactly fine with shipping, that's why I just want to say - if you know whether that applies to his smp character as well, then I will delete this fic. Other than that, I, of course, don't ship him, but more like his character. Well, I'm basically just putting focus on canon relations lol.
> 
> Anyways, have fun!

He should have never married Schlatt. He should have never loved Schlatt, he should have never even talked to the man.

Schlatt took a fragment of him, and then he broke off another one, and another one, and another one, just until they started breaking and falling on their own.  
Quackity was dying, he was fading. He had been doing that for years now.

Even with Sapnap and Karl, even though they loved him, he was fading.  
Alex couldn't... he couldn't trust them. He had trusted Schlatt, but he couldn't actually trust them, for whatever fucked up reason.

He trusted the feeling of alcohol, the only thing that didn't make him question whether he was still alive, or has already faded. That, and Tommy. Tommy was... he was supportive of him. He had let him in, let him join Pogtopia after the damned betrayal that he had brought upon them.  
Alex had liked Wilbur, and he liked Tommy.  
He liked Sapnap and Karl, too, sure. He _loved_ them, even though he couldn't really go into it completely, even though he had issues trusting them... But before he started fading this intensely, it was Tommy, Tubbo and Wilbur that stopped it.

It made sense, actually. Wilbur was dead, Tommy had been in exile, Tubbo was in charge of this scarred piece of a nation, and Alex was slowly breaking.  
Alex Quackity. Quackity Alex.  
What an abomination he was.  
He failed everyone. He failed Will, he failed Tommy - God, he had visited the boy, and it looked miserable. He looked miserable.  
The ghost of Wilbur was still roaming around, so almost stupidly naive that it hurt. It hurt to see him dead, it hurt too see him forgetful - Wilbur, the alive Wilbur, he never would have forgotten anything. He had remembered every detail, even the smallest.

But Ghostbur... Ghostbur forgot about like seventy to eighty percent of his life because it was just a collage of pain, one pain filled page flipping to another over and over again.  
Would Wilbur have been able to finish his symphony if Quackity hadn't barged in, if he hadn't sided with Schlatt? If Wilbur won, would they all be happy now?

The last time he'd seen Wilbur, no, no, the last time he'd seen Ghostbur - it was a while ago, really.  
Quackity had been drunk more than sober lately, trying to drown himself in the opposite lake that his problems were in.  
Wilbur doesn't even know that there was something between them anymore, back at some point in Pogtopia. That momentarily, just momentarily, Wilbur had treated him so gently with the same hands that ended up pushing the button.  
Could they have been lovers, could it have been? Or was it always meant to be like this?

Drinking didn't help his memory, not at all. It was awful.  
When he had first seen Ghostbur, he was drunk out of his mind. Alex could definitely recall that he momentarily thought that Wilbur's death had just been a fever dream. Because there he was, he was standing right in front of him, playing around with some disks in one hand, holding his blue in the other one, back turned to Quackity.

When he tried though, when he talked to him, said a little, small "Wilbur?", the figure had turned around.  
He saw the big wound, the slightly blue skin, the way he was levitating, and his carefree, yet sunken in and depressed eyes, and he remembered collapsing.

Quackity had fainted, back then. Being drunk and suddenly seeing someone that died right in front of you, that you saw being sliced up wasn't really the best thing for your feelings, obviously.  
But when he opened his eyes and Wilbur - Ghostbur - was there, Alex couldn't help but feel comforted and freaked out all the same.

His voice was soft and worried, as he gently slapped Quackity's cheek, trying to wake him up, before pulling him into a hug when he actually woke up.  
It took long to actually work through the fact that this was a ghost. Dead Wilbur. Ghostbur.  
But when he did... Alex almost felt like he healed a little.

That was until Tubbo suddenly showed so much similarity with Schlatt, and he started to get angry, so very angry and drunk and fucked over that he went after Techno and lost the second one of his three lives, getting a pickaxe right through his face.  
It hurt like a bitch, but then again, he didn't remember a lot.  
That dumbass pickaxe though, the whole thing it stands for, that's what broke another fragment, and this time, it was a bigger one.

He knew that recently now, Tommy had come back sometimes, from the underground when neither Tubbo nor Dream were there. And then, well, Alex had been drunk out of his mind then, too.  
He had thought for Tommy to be a dumb hallucination his mind liked to show him, teasing him about how he let it happen that a young child, only a few years younger than him, got exiled for months. Years, maybe.  
And when he nonchalantly walked by, trying to ignore what he thought to be torture his mind set up for him, Tommy turned around and huffed angrily.

"Come on, not even a "hello", Big Q?" he had said, and Alex froze immediately, looking at the boy with all the mighty horror that was building up inside of him at that time.  
"Are you here for real?" he tried, coming closer to the blond boy, actually looking at him then.  
His hair had grown out to fall over his shoulders, and it had darkened from his original light blond. Tommy's clothes were torn and dirty, he was so , and the boy seemed to shiver a little in the cold of the season.

Alex immediately took off his jacket and came closer, putting it over the boy's shoulders, only then grasping that he really was real.  
"Thank you," Tommy muttered, sounding surprised as he put it on completely, returning to look at Quackity over and over again, not seeming sure about being allowed to keep it.  
"Keep it. Keep it," he replied then to make sure Tommy knew, fidgeting around with his fingers, "I've got enough."

Tommy basically sunk into the warmth that Quackity had given him, making the black haired's breath hitch.  
"Did you drink?" the sixteen years old asked then, basically out of the blue, startling the Mexican.  
"I... yes, but I feel stone cold sober right now." Even though his head was spinning madly, and his heart was beating so fast that he felt like he'd choke on it, and the alcohol was trying to find its way out.

He had kept it together that evening, though, and he had invited Tommy into his house since it had started to rain badly - after drinking some tea to warm up and chatting a little, Tommy had to go when the evening arose and Tubbo came on.

That's where his anger was starting to bubble up again. Not anger towards Tubbo, no, towards Dream and himself.  
God, if he wasn't so weak, if he hadn't been drowning his sorrows in alcohol and destroying his body, he'd hunted the man down and taken him apart.  
But he was weak enough, strong enough, to hurt himself for all of his failures.

He had promised Tommy to stop drinking at some point in their conversation. But now he was sitting on one of the cold wooden planks of their little street, a bottle or alcohol in his hands as he held his face tightly in his other, trying to not sob like some pathetic idiot about everything running through his mind.

Quackity only realized that his phone was ringing when it had already rung for multiple moments, needing a moment to actually get its way through to him.  
He thought about just not taking the call, but then he saw that it was Sapnap on the other side of it - he desperately wanted to talk to Sapnap, to beg him to never leave him, or to curse him out, Alex didn't quite know.

So he took the call.  
"Alex Quackity, where are you?!"  
Sapnap sounded worried. Agitated... was that all fake? Could any of it even be real? Nothing made sense...  
"Outside."  
"Did you _drink?"_  
"No. No, I didn't drink!"  
Anger. Blood red anger, and it was going to kill him. It was going to end everything he'd built up for himself.

"You know what I told you, Alex," Sapnap scolded then, the hot tears in the Mexican's eyes burning everything they touched.  
" _I_ told _you_ , I'm not fucking drunk."  
"Please, I can hear your voice well enough!"  
"I'M NOT DRUNK!" Quackity then finally lashed out, aggressively throwing away the glass bottle of alcohol that he had in the free hand, seeing as it shattered into a million pieces, the substance splashing onto the hard floor.

"Fuck, what was that? Are you o-"  
And he had hung up. Quackity had just hung up, staring at the pieces of glass as he dropped his phone.  
_"What did I tell you about wasting my alcohol, huh?"_  
Schlatt. Schlatt. Schlatt was behind him, Schlatt had a sword pointed at him, and he had wasted his alcohol for no good reason. No, _no_ reason was good enough for that.  
"I'm sorry," Alex panicked, tears falling from his eyes that he hadn't even fully noticed when they came up as he basically crawled towards the glass shards, his heavy breathing echoing through the quiet atmosphere of L'manberg.

He felt Schlatt behind him as he picked up the glass, scattering them together with his pure naked hands, cutting into the flesh as he did so - he picked them up, some of the pieces sticking inside of his hands, his hands that were starting to bleed like crazy.  
Blood was dripping to the ground in a worryingly fast pace, as Quackity held the glass to his chest, holding it strong in his hands.

"I picked it up... I picked it up..."  
"Oh hey, what are you doing, Quackity? Would you like some- oh!"  
The Mexican let the glass fall, at least the pieces that weren't sticking inside of his hand, hearing them clutter or fall into small puddles of blood as he looked up - Ghostbur.  
"What...?"  
"You're bleeding, Quackity!" the ghost gasped, kneeling onto the ground as best as he could, not fully touching the surface as he was still, well, a ghost, "what happened?"

"I dropped... the..." the black haired started, and pointed towards the wall, "did you... did you not just hear Schlatt?"  
"Schlatt? There was no Schlatt here," Ghostbur answered, taking Alex' hands in a gentle, caring way that almost made the younger man sob again.  
He picked the glass pieces out of his bloody hands, sticking his tongue out in deep thought, doing oh so well that Alex couldn't even really feel pain with it.

"Ghostbur..."  
"Mh-hmm?"  
Quackity shook his heart, all while the older man spawned a little bit of water, letting it fall onto Alex' hands as the ghost thoroughly washed the blood off.  
"Where did you come from..."  
"I sensed that someone was feeling really, really bad, so I came here," Ghostbur explained with a big smile, wiping off his now own bloody hands off on his yellow sweater, where he had blood stains anyways.

Suddenly Ghostbur was able to also spawn some bandages out of nowhere, quickly putting them around Quackity's hands, making sure to cover every single wound.  
"Thank you," he sobbed then, watching as the ghost picked up the glass and seemed to just teleport it away.

"No problem! I'm glad that I could help!" Wilbur mused then, still smiling so very bright that it almost hurt, "You're still not okay, though."  
"Not really..."  
"Here, some blue- oh wait, no, you need to watch out with your hands. I will just put it into your pocket!" the ghost said in his cheerful yet depressed sounding voice, Quackity feeling as he did just what he said, all while feeling like he fading for real.

The last pieces of Alex were beginning to die, weren't they? He was fading now. Fading for real. This was it, this was the last straw.  
Soon he'd sit with Wilbur, ghost form or not.

He could only barely hear the words Ghostbur was saying to him, he could only feel himself slipping.  
There was only falling now. 


End file.
